Witch is When The Penny Dropped (A Witch P.I. Mystery Book 6)

by Abbott, Adele

  The last time I’d been in Club Tiny was for the Karaoke competition. I’d gone there with Drake. I had considered contacting him about tonight, but I knew he’d ask about Raven, and I didn’t think this was the ideal location to have that particular conversation.

  The club wasn’t actually called Club Tiny although it was indeed very small. Its name was actually Club Destiny, but the first three letters in the sign had been out for as long as anyone could remember.

  If Aunt Lucy and Lester had been taking part, my money would have been on them, but they’d said they didn’t want to show the twins up. That had made me laugh; Amber and Pearl hadn’t found it so amusing. They were both convinced they were going to win.

  Hmm, we’d see.

  The compère for the evening was a vampire named Mike Holder. He was wearing more make-up than any of the women in the club. There was a glass booth on the left hand side of the stage. One of the partners sat in there, blindfolded with ear phones on, while the other answered questions. Then the person in the booth was brought out to answer the same questions. The answers were supposed to match—oh dear.

  Amber and William were the first from our table to be called to the stage. After the usual meaningless small talk, William was despatched to the glass booth.

  “Okay, Amber,” Mike said. “Your first question: What were you wearing the first time you met William?”

  “My blue and white polka dot dress,” she answered confidently.

  “And what was he wearing?”

  “Black jeans and a white tee-shirt.”

  “Who is your favourite pop star?”

  “Maxine Most.”

  “What is your favourite colour?”

  “Pink.”

  “Thank you, Amber.” He signalled to his assistant to fetch William.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a werewolf look more terrified. He knew what Amber would do to him if he messed up.

  “First question: What was Amber wearing the first time you met?”

  I saw the relief wash over William’s face. He knew the answer.

  “Jeans and a yellow top.”

  Amber gave him such a look, and he knew he’d blown it.

  “I’m afraid that’s wrong. Why don’t you tell him, Amber?”

  “I was wearing my blue and white polka dot dress. You’ve got a photo on your phone.”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry.”

  “Second question—”

  And that’s how it went. William managed to get precisely zero questions correct. Yes, you heard right: Zero questions correct.

  Sitting next to me, Pearl and Alan were enjoying this way too much. At least I had the good grace not to laugh out loud even though I was chuckling quietly to myself.

  Next it was Amber’s turn to go into the glass booth. William answered his four questions, and she was brought back out.

  Question one—their answers didn’t match.

  Question two—remarkably they both agreed that cheese was Alan’s favourite food.

  Question three—their answers didn’t match.

  Question four—their agony was complete.

  A dejected William and an irate Amber returned to the table. I said nothing for fear of laughing.

  “That was really good.” Pearl laughed.

  “Shut up!” Amber snapped at her sister.

  “Well done, pal.” Alan patted William on the back. William looked as though he wanted to tear Alan’s throat out right there and then.

  “Our next couple is Pearl and Alan,” the compère said.

  “Watch and learn,” Pearl said to her sister.

  The compère chatted to the couple. Pearl was all smiles, and even Alan seemed to have relaxed. They had nothing to beat.

  Or did they?

  “Don’t ever talk to me again,” Pearl shouted at Alan when they left the stage. She was close to tears.

  “How was I supposed to know you liked carrot cake?” he said.

  “Because I eat it all the time. Are you blind?”

  Amber and William had recovered a little, but only because they’d witnessed a performance which matched their own. Both couples had managed to score only a single point.

  What did I tell you? Comedy gold!

  Aunt Lucy had said we should go back to her house afterwards. At the time the twins had been very keen. They’d assumed one of them would be bringing home the prize.

  “Oh dear,” Aunt Lucy greeted us at the door. “I don’t need to ask how it went, do I?”

  “Go on.” I laughed. “Ask anyway.”

  Amber, Pearl, William and Alan all gave me the same look.

  “I take it you didn’t win.” Aunt Lucy led the way into the dining room.

  “Not quite,” Amber said.

  “It was close,” Pearl said.

  The twins looked at me, imploring me not to tell. So, I thought about it for a moment, and asked myself what they’d have done if the roles had been reversed.

  “They shared joint last place,” I said. What? Come on, they’d have thrown me under the bus without a moment’s hesitation.

  Aunt Lucy and I had to take a seat on the sofa—we were laughing so hard we couldn’t stand up.

  “We’re going home,” Pearl said.

  “Us too.” Amber stomped out.

  Aunt Lucy jumped up and ran through to the kitchen, and then came rushing back. I had no idea what she was doing.

  “Amber, Pearl! Wait a minute. You’ve forgotten something.”

  The two girls poked their heads back inside the living room.

  “What?”

  “Here you are.” Aunt Lucy handed each of them a wooden spoon.

  Chapter 19

  I was still smiling to myself the next morning. It had been cruel of me to tell Aunt Lucy about the twin’s abysmal performance on The Perfect Couple, but come on—it was funny. No doubt they’d give me the silent treatment the next time I went to Cuppy C, but it was still worth it.

  “Morning, Jill.” Betty said, as she walked down the corridor towards me.

  “Morning. I see your toe is better.”

  “Shh!” She put a finger to her lips.

  Before I could say anything else, I heard footsteps behind me. It was Norman the mastermind. He walked past me without a second glance. He had eyes only for Betty.

  “Thanks for coming to pick me up,” Betty said.

  I caught her gaze, and she gave me a wink.

  “Put your arm over my shoulder,” Norman said, and then began to help the hobbling Betty out to his car.

  Betty, you crafty little minx.

  ***

  It was like the good old days—Mrs V was back on the scarves.

  “Jill, I think I should warn you I may have upset your grandmother.”

  “It’s easily done. What did you do?”

  “Nothing really. It’s hardly my fault they asked me to do it rather than her, is it?”

  I loved it when she talked in riddles. Especially first thing in the morning when I was still half asleep.

  “Who asked you to do what?”

  “Scarves Around Washbridge.”

  There had to be more than that, so I waited. And waited.

  “Should I know what that is?”

  “Sorry, dear. I spend so much time in yarnie circles I sometimes forget you aren’t in the loop. Scarves Around Washbridge is a charity event organised by the Yarn Council. It’s in aid of those incapacitated through knitting.”

  “I hadn’t realised it was such a dangerous activity.”

  “You’d be surprised. Those needles can be rather sharp. I’ve seen some things. Take Sheila Pearce—her nose may never be the same again. I have a photo somewhere—”

  “No, it’s okay. So what does this have to do with Grandma?”

  “They have asked me to officially open this year’s event. Your grandmother is a little miffed according to my Twitter feed.”

  “Hold on. Did you say Twitter?”

  “Yes. Hashtag ScarvesAroundW
ashbridge.”

  “You’re on Twitter?”

  “Of course. The yarnies love to tweet.”

  It was at times like this that I realised I was being left behind by the digital age. It came to something when my elderly PA and my cat were more clued up than I was.

  ***

  The Bugle had run a story which confirmed the police had now connected the Gina Peel murder and the Anton Michaels murder. I doubted the story had been based on an official police announcement; it was more likely to have come from one of the Bugle’s ‘sources’ inside the police force. It seemed to me that it all revolved around the apartment where Gina Peel had been murdered. Based upon what the plumber had told me, there was a strong possibility that someone had deliberately sabotaged the pipes to get Gina out of her own apartment. The questions were:

  - who had given her access to the apartment where she was murdered?

  - how were Reg Peel’s fingerprints in that apartment and on the murder weapon when he’d died in a climbing accident two years before?

  - what was Anton Michaels’ role in all of this, and why had he been murdered?

  After some research, I managed to trace the property record for the apartment where Gina had died. It had last changed hands just over two years ago—when Anton Michaels purchased it. The owner prior to that was a Ms Sylvia Long who fortunately still lived locally, and who had agreed to talk to me.

  Sylvia Long had obviously moved up in the world. She now lived in a large detached house in the leafier part of Washbridge. It was the kind of area where the residents stuck pictures of flowers on their wheelie bins.

  “Do come in.” Sylvia led me into a huge conservatory which looked out over a beautifully manicured garden.

  “Tea?”

  “Thanks.”

  She rang a hand-bell, and an elderly woman appeared. “Tea for two please, Jean.”

  Jean scurried away to make the tea. Sylvia puffed on an e-cigarette which smelled like the gerbil cage I’d had as a kid.

  We made small talk until the tea arrived. In fact, that’s not strictly speaking true. Sylvia made small talk—I smiled and nodded at the appropriate points.

  “I assume you heard about what happened at your old apartment?”

  “I did. That poor woman. It’s the best thing I ever did—moving out of there. It’s beginning to look as though the place might be cursed.”

  “Did you know that the person you sold the apartment to was also dead?”

  “I did. Such a tragic accident.”

  “Accident?”

  “Yes, it was all over the papers at the time.”

  Now I was confused. Why would she think Anton Michaels’ death was an accident? Unless—

  “When exactly was this accident?”

  “Not long after he’d bought the apartment, so two years ago I guess. Some kind of climbing accident—terrible thing.”

  “Look, I’m sorry to press the point, but just so I’m clear: you’re saying the man who bought the apartment from you was killed in a climbing accident two years ago?”

  “That’s right.”

  I took out my smartphone, brought up the web browser and did a search. When I’d found the image I was looking for, I showed it to Sylvia.

  “Was that the man who bought your apartment?”

  “Yes, dear. That’s him.”

  ***

  The lunchtime rush was over, so it was fairly quiet in Kaleidoscope.

  “Table, madam?” The maître d’ greeted me at the door.

  “Not today, thanks. Just a quick drink.”

  He nodded me through, and I made my way to the bar. There was a different man working behind the bar today; this guy was all hair gel and aftershave. I ordered a soda—last of the big spenders, that’s me.

  “I see you’ve had a revamp,” I said.

  “Yeah. Made a good job of it, don’t you think?”

  “Very nice. What’s the new owner like?”

  He shrugged. “Never met him.”

  “That’s unusual isn’t it? Do you know his name or where I can contact him?”

  “No, sorry.”

  He walked to the other end of the bar, and began to speak to a man in a black suit.

  I cast the ‘listen’ spell, filtered out all other sounds, and homed in on their conversation.

  “She’s asking about the owner,” the barman said.

  “What about him?”

  “Who he is and how to contact him.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing. You said we should let you know if anyone asked questions.”

  “Okay. You did good.”

  The suit then came around the bar and made his way over to me.

  “Afternoon.” His smile couldn’t have been any more false.

  “Hi.”

  “Quiet drink alone?”

  “Yeah. I just needed to take the weight off for a while.”

  “Busy day?”

  “Very.”

  “What is it you do?”

  “I’m a secret agent.”

  He looked nonplussed for a moment, and then laughed. “That must be exciting. What do you really do?”

  “That’s a secret.”

  “Well, enjoy your drink.”

  “Before you go. I asked your barman who owns Kaleidoscope now. He didn’t seem to know.”

  The man’s expression was one hundred per cent serious now. He said nothing.

  “Do you know?” I pressed.

  “What’s your interest?”

  “If I told you that I’d be forced to kill you.” I smiled. “Secret agent stuff.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help.”

  With that, he walked away.

  I cast the ‘listen’ spell again, and focussed on the man as he disappeared from sight. Moments later my hunch paid off as I heard him make a call.

  “Some woman. I don’t know. No, of course I didn’t tell her. Okay. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

  Bingo!

  ***

  It was time to face the music. I didn’t think I’d be the twin’s favourite person after telling Aunt Lucy about their performance at The Perfect Couple competition. Looking back now, maybe I shouldn’t have done it. Who was I kidding? I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  “Look who it isn’t.” Pearl shot me a look.

  “It’s the traitor, herself.” Amber joined her sister behind the counter.

  “Look girls, I’m truly sorry.” I lied. “But you would have done the same to me.”

  They looked at one another, and could no longer maintain their annoyed expressions.

  “You’re right.” Amber giggled.

  “Yeah—we’d have given you up in a flash.” Pearl smiled.

  “So am I forgiven?”

  “Yeah, we forgive you, but we haven’t forgiven those guys.”

  By ‘those guys’ I assumed they meant Alan and William.

  “Pearl and I spent ages analysing where we’d gone wrong,” Amber said.

  “Yeah.” Pearl took over. “We realised we weren’t at fault. It was the guys who let us down.”

  I nodded, but that wasn’t how I remembered it. I seemed to recall that none of them had known anything about one another.

  “You’re totally right,” I said. What? Sometimes hypocrisy is the better part of valour.

  “Anyway.” Pearl took a bite from the first half of her ‘reduced-calorie’ muffin. “We have other things on our minds right now.”

  Make-up? Dresses? Jethro?

  Amber stole a bite of Pearl’s muffin, much to her sister’s annoyance. “Have you heard about the new tea room that’s opening?”

  News travelled fast. I hadn’t been sure whether to tell them about Grandma’s tea room or not.

  “Grandma told you then?”

  “Told us what?”

  “About the tea room.”

  “How would she know about it?”

  Conversations with the twins could sometimes be a
challenge. This was looking like one of those times.

  “Now, I’m confused,” I confessed. “I thought you were annoyed because Grandma is opening a tea room.”

  “She’s doing what?” Pearl practically spat out her muffin.

  “Grandma?” Amber looked shell-shocked.

  “Isn’t that what you were talking about?”

  “No. We’re talking about the two ‘M’s.”

  It took a few seconds for it to click, but then I realised they were referring to Miles Best and Mindy Lowe who ran Best Cakes. I glanced out the window, and saw that there were workmen in the building adjacent to the cake shop.

  “When did you find out?” I asked.

  “Miles had the barefaced cheek to come over here and announce it. He said he wanted us to hear it from him first. And that he knew we’d welcome the competition.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “It isn’t repeatable.”

  Oh dear. It seemed the cake wars had escalated.

  “What’s this about Grandma?” Pearl scooped up the last few crumbs of muffin.

  “She’s taken the shop next to Ever A Wool Moment, and is going to turn it into a tea room for the yarnies. I have my suspicions that she used magic to drive the previous tenant out, but I can’t prove it.”

  “Sounds like the type of thing she’d do,” Amber said.

  “What does she know about running a tea room?” Pearl rolled her eyes.

  “Not much probably,” I said. “But I wouldn’t bet against her making a success of it. If Ever A Wool Moment is anything to go by, we know she has the marketing nous.”

  “Just as long as she doesn’t try to drag us into it.” Pearl stood up.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” Amber looked at her sister. “Do you think she’ll ask us for help?”

  “She can ask all she wants.”

  “Yeah. Let her ask. We’ll tell her we’re too busy.”

  “Yeah.”

  Brave words indeed.

  Chapter 20

  I was in the office snatching some computer time while Winky was having a nap.